tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2695840511970883220Tue, 03 Mar 2015 18:54:04 +0000on earth as it is in heavenhttp://katiedavis.amazima.org/noreply@blogger.com (katie)Blogger142125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2695840511970883220.post-489937779499711801Tue, 10 Feb 2015 16:54:00 +00002015-02-10T08:54:05.391-08:00<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>For years, I have prayed Isaiah 61 over my family, asking the Lord to give beauty for ashes, asking Him to indeed grow these daughters of mine into oaks of righteousness, a planting for the display of His splendor. I have cried tears straight into the words “freedom for captives” as I begged this promise for a certain few of my little ladies specifically. I have rested in the promise of the oil of joy instead of mourning and I have rejoiced with the prophet Isaiah as each one has come to her own understanding that He has clothed her with garments of salvation and a robe of righteousness. My eyes stuck right there on Isaiah 61 praying in hope those words of verse 11, that the Lord would cause righteousness and praise to spring up before all nations.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>Only on Saturday morning, the morning after I married the very most Christ-like man I have ever met, did my eyes wander down past verse 11, down the page to Isaiah, Chapter 62. As if, now that I was beginning this new chapter of life, maybe God would give me a new chapter to pray over my family. My breath caught in my throat as I read these words that I somehow had never read before.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>“The nations will see your vindication, and all kings your glory. You will be called by a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">new name</i> that the mouth of the Lord will bestow. You will be a crown of splendor in the Lord’s hand, a royal diadem in the hand of your God. No longer will they call you Deserted, or your name Desolate. But you will be called Hephzibah (my delight is in her) and your land will be Beulah (married). For the Lord will take delight in you and your land will be married. As a young man marries a young woman, so will your Builder marry you; as a bridegroom rejoices over his bride, so will your God rejoice over you.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>Right there on the thin, gilded page, was his heart for me, for Benji, for each of my girls, for our family – that we would know His delight in us, the way He rejoices over us.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>The last two years have been a different season. A season of quiet, of dark and sadness, of joys that felt too personal to share with anyone other than my Heavenly Father. I have tried to write many times, but I have been learning the beauty of the secret place, just Him and me. The Lord who knows my heart has been whispering to me of a new season for a long time, and my flesh has worried that this new season might take me out of my secret hiding place with Him, that somehow a physical, tangible relationship with another might take away from my relationship with my Builder, My Lover, My Life-Giver.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>Little did I know that this new relationship would only enhance the other.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>I became Mrs. Majors on January 2<sup>nd</sup> of this year. Benji is a discipler of men and a faithful maker of breakfast. Long before we shared a home we shared a hometown with only a few hilltops to keep our adolescent lives from ever intersecting. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>As the Lord would have it, we would only meet on the other side of an ocean after He had captured our hearts with a love for the Ugandan people and a desire for The Word to go forth in this place. At first I was hesitant, but while Benji was patient, God was faithfully working on my heart. I watched him teach Bible studies and disciple men and fix my kids’ bikes. We laughed over coffee and all the crazy things that are life here. He taught me more and more about the love of Jesus, in his words, and in his example. He captured my heart. And on the night he washed my feet and asked me to be his forever, the yes jumped off my lips as if it had always been waiting there just for him.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">I imagined marriage would be good. Wonderful even. But I did not even begin to understand that it would be this holy. I didn’t know that I would melt under this man’s gaze that is so full of the love of the Father for me. I didn’t imagine the way his delight in me would be my daily reminder of the way my Father delights in me. My husband’s love is just another way God has chosen to pour our His extravagant love on me, another constant reminder that He rejoices over me, and over each one of our daughters.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>I watch them come alive under the loving gaze of their new father, I hear the delight and the certainty in their voices as they call “Dad.” And without me even having to ask, God who knows my heart has given me my new prayer over them: that in knowing the delight of their earthly father, they would begin to grasp the delight of their Heavenly Father all the more. 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mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style><![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <!--EndFragment--><br /><div class="MsoNormal">God gives good gifts. His delight is in me, in us, in them. May our delight be evermore in Him.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fZq81voE2wk/VNo2uAfUdwI/AAAAAAAABPE/HvFI50ujcmY/s1600/wedding%2B1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fZq81voE2wk/VNo2uAfUdwI/AAAAAAAABPE/HvFI50ujcmY/s1600/wedding%2B1.jpeg" height="425" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UDbbWFu-Tvk/VNo2wsU2bpI/AAAAAAAABPM/iB1fqcUKEuI/s1600/wedding%2B2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UDbbWFu-Tvk/VNo2wsU2bpI/AAAAAAAABPM/iB1fqcUKEuI/s1600/wedding%2B2.jpeg" height="640" width="426" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div>http://katiedavis.amazima.org/2015/02/for-yearsi-have-prayed-isaiah-61-over.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (katie)276tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2695840511970883220.post-8769518072931762728Tue, 30 Sep 2014 14:43:00 +00002014-09-30T07:43:05.869-07:00<div class="MsoNormal">I have a friend named <a href="https://amazima.org/blog/simon-update-hes-going-home" target="_blank">Simon</a>.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">He’s eleven.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bHorvSW4ghM/VCrBGsvEKII/AAAAAAAABOs/FP05BJ4JNnc/s1600/IMG_0805.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bHorvSW4ghM/VCrBGsvEKII/AAAAAAAABOs/FP05BJ4JNnc/s1600/IMG_0805.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I remember the day his family arrived here for the first time, Simon struggling to breathe and weak from the anesthesia of his first esophageal surgery. I remember the fear in his mother’s eyes as she left him here with his grandmother and me for middle of the night feedings through his new feeding tube and daily tracheotomy changes. They needed a place to stay that was near the hospital, just in case.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I remember when his surgeon first showed me all of his scans and my staff and I realized that we were looking at a miracle – a real, true miracle. How does a child live for ten years with out any ability to swallow food? I remember the certainty I felt that God wouldn’t have brought him this far unless He had an unbelievable plan.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I remember all the times I bumped into his grandmother coming out of her room to prepare food in the middle of the night as I got up to check on <a href="http://katiedavis.amazima.org/2013_04_01_archive.html" target="_blank">Betty</a>. We nursed our patients and we swore when the power went out and we couldn’t use the blender to puree his food, and sometimes we just stared at each other through too-sleepy eyes. We whispered of God’s grace and we whispered of our sorrows. We reminded each other of the call to of God to longsuffering. I remember the way they held me when they learned that Betty had gone home to Jesus.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I remember all the things that went wrong. The moments of panic and the consistent, pleading prayers over Simon’s young, fragile life. His mom came to live with us when it got to be too much for his grandmother. We both learned to do things that we never imagined we could. We watched and prayed through eleven failed surgeries. Eleven. I remember the weight of our exhaustion that just settled down over my home and my heart. Would he <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ever</i> get well? <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ever?<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I remember the day I realized with full clarity that Simon just Couldn’t get better in Uganda. We had the best surgeons and equipment our country could offer and it just wasn’t working. I remember his squeal as he took off on his very first airplane and his mother’s wide eyes as we entered the Atlanta airport over 30 hours later.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I remember the great delight I knew in watching my biological family welcome in members of our Ugandan family and the love that Simon and Anna felt everywhere we went. I remember how surreal it was to be back here in Uganda and know that they were safe and sound at the homes of my parents and closest friends in Nashville.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I remember the email that said that Simon’s surgeries were over and had been successful. Attached were confirmation numbers of his plane ticket home. I remember the elated, disbelieving faces of our dedicated staff when I shared the news. I remember my children counting down the days until they got here – our friends, now family members. And I remember her tears of gratitude on my shoulder as we embraced for the first time in months back where it all started, “God saved my son’s life.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">It is 20 months later. It feels like eternity. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">And today they drove away smiling and laughing, arms excitedly waving out of van windows, as my children chased and waved just as hard. I stood in the driveway and let tears of joy well up in my eyes. They are well. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">They are well. </i>Simon can swallow food just as well as any other eleven year old. He can play soccer with the best of them. Tomorrow, he’ll go back to third grade. Anna will be able to go back to work after completely surrendering all her dreams to take care of her son. They will wash dishes and do homework and laugh and sing and pray in their own little home just like so many other happy, healthy families. And we will stay here and do the same.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I stood in their room long after they left and ran my fingers of the words of Hebrews that I painted on the wall, mostly as a reminder to myself, “He who promised is faithful.” I can hardly believe His faithfulness to us, the fullness of all His promises unfolding right here before my eyes. I breathe deep relief. I allow myself to remember just how crazy <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hard</i> it all was, just how long it has been, just how <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">tired </i>I have felt, and just how <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">faithful</i> he has been to each of us through all of it.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">People ask me how we do it – all these people living, and sometimes dying, in our home. Most days I shake me head, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I don’t know</i>. Lots of days it’s just down right hard. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>Some days it is more than exhausting. But today I remember. We hold out for the happy ending. Because where Jesus is, the happy ending <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is </i>possible. It doesn’t always come, and that doesn’t mean He is not present, but still, it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is </i>possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Redemption is coming. And we don’t always get to glimpse His redemption here and now, but sometimes we do. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Today I remember. 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mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style><![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <!--EndFragment--><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-X_mFxexHfa8/VCrA0F_cnLI/AAAAAAAABOk/1poS5zIJYsI/s1600/IMG_2525.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-X_mFxexHfa8/VCrA0F_cnLI/AAAAAAAABOk/1poS5zIJYsI/s1600/IMG_2525.JPG" height="173" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">And He who promised is faithful.<o:p></o:p></div>http://katiedavis.amazima.org/2014/09/i-have-friend-named-simon.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (katie)74tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2695840511970883220.post-6238892295338772838Sat, 19 Apr 2014 21:01:00 +00002014-04-19T14:01:58.656-07:00<div class="MsoNormal">After the Sabbath, at dawn on the first day of the week, Mary Magdelene and the other Mary went to look at the tomb.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">There was a violent earthquake, for an angel of the Lord came down from Heaven and, going to the tomb, rolled away the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning and his clothes were white as snow. The guards were so afraid of him that they shook and became like dead men.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">The angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here; He has risen, just as He said. Come and see the place where He lay. Then go quickly and tell His disciples: He has risen from the dead and is going ahead of you into Galilee. There you will see Him. Now I have told you.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">So the women hurried away, terrified yet full of joy, and ran to tell His disciples. Suddenly, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jesus met them. </i>“Greetings,” He said. They came and clasped His feet and worshiped Him. Then Jesus said, “Do not be afraid. Go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Terrified and full of joy. This isn’t the first time I have been here, have felt this strange mix of emotion that is both trepidation and wonder, hesitation and excitement. Fittingly, I seem to find myself here most often during the season of Easter. This isn’t the first time this story has spoken deeply to my heart, stating exactly what I do not have words for.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Our family is extraordinarily blessed to have a small, three-bedroom “house” in our backyard. Over the years we have been very privileged to have people of many kinds live with us here as they recover from set-backs and move toward what God has for them next. Sick people who have been discharged from the local hospital but still have no place to rest, homeless families looking for jobs or a means of support, <a href="http://katiedavis.amazima.org/2011/07/i-thought-that-if-she-was-just-going-to.html" target="_blank">friends, who have quickly become like family</a>, all of them looking for Jesus, looking for love. People have been loved to new life here, and some have been loved straight into the arms of Jesus.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">In the quiet of the evening, after I have kissed cheeks and tucked in bodies and prayed over sleepy little heads, I sneak out to the back yard and I watch the new life. Anna reads to her son, <a href="http://blog.amazima.org/2013/06/prayer-request-surgery-for-simon.html" target="_blank">Simon</a>, as they wait for the 8<sup>th</sup> in a series of surgeries to repair his esophagus. They stay here so that they can be close to a hospital in case of an emergency, but Anna helps me and encourages me more than she knows. Yusufu, recently homeless in the community of Masese due to illness that caused him to lose his job, serves food to his two young children, Mariam and Shafik. In the morning, he will go again to dig in the garden and save up the money he makes so that they can move out and stand on their own two feet. Agnes, partially paralyzed due to a stroke and left to die by family members who were afraid and did not understand her condition, sleeps soundly next to her three year old, Lotuke, tired from a long day of walking practice. I bet she’ll be able to do it without her cane any day now! Margaret, her tiny, twenty year-old body ravished by AIDS, discharged from the hospital but with nowhere to go, smiles brightly at me with her son, Sam in her lap.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Beauty from ashes. I don’t just know it to be true, I get to live it. We get to watch redemption take place, we get to reach out and touch it, we get to be a part of it.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">And then Margaret groans that her stomach hurts. In a moment, I am in a different place at a different time <a href="http://katiedavis.amazima.org/2012/12/so-these-are-your-treatment-options_13.html" target="_blank">with another friend</a> whose stomach had hurt. We are at the hospital and they are telling us that there is nothing they can do. I slowly watch her get worse and worse. I hold her hand and I read the Psalms, <a href="http://katiedavis.amazima.org/2013/02/cant-believethat-it-has-been-over-month.html" target="_blank">and she breathes her last</a>. I can hardly breathe. I reach out to hold Margaret’s hand and it looks so similar to <a href="http://katiedavis.amazima.org/2013/04/she-reaches-for-my-hand-and-smiles.html" target="_blank">a hand I held not toolong ago</a> – a hand I held for hours that turned into days and days that turned into weeks until finally I got to place her hand in the hands of Jesus as He took her from this earth. I blink. It is just a stomachache. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://katiedavis.amazima.org/2012/02/healer-god.html" target="_blank">Makerere</a> walks by and I catch a glimpse of the scar on his leg, a scar that God used to heal my heart. I breathe long and deep all that God is doing in this place, all that He is allowing me to participate in, and my heart swells with gratitude, with deep, unshakable joy. And in the same breath, just like the women at the tomb, I am terrified. Because I know it to be true: in order to experience the deep joys of the Father, we must experience the heartaches, too. In order to know Jesus the way that I have known Him, I have had to give my heart to people in ways that I would never have chosen.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I can see the women with their eyes wide as they tremble in front of the tomb. They listen to the angel’s words – can it be? – and they scurry, terrified and filled with joy.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 92.65pt;">Is it possible to be full of joy and thankfulness and simultaneously afraid of what obedience might bring next? I feel it stirring in my heart, the strange mix of pain and excitement that I will feel as each of our friends here transitions into the new life, outside of our home, that God has planned for them; the strange and devastating love that grows when we love the way Christ has loved us.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 92.65pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 92.65pt;">I sit there in the candle light, 13 growing young women sleeping soundly a few yards away and all kinds of lives being transformed before my eyes. I sit, terrified and full of joy.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 92.65pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 92.65pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">And Jesus meets me. And He says, “Do not be afraid.”</i><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 92.65pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 92.65pt;">And I ask simply, “How?” Because as excited as I am about all He has planned, there is no denying that sometimes I am just plain scared.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 92.65pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 92.65pt;">His answer comes clear, steady. “Go and tell my brothers. Go and tell them the good news. Go and tell all the world that they will see me. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">They will see me.</i>”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 92.65pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 92.65pt;">And His words ring true. We see Him here, in the midst of pain and hurt and suffering, we see His glory all around. We see Him reconciling all things to Himself, drawing all nations to Himself, making all things new.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 92.65pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 92.65pt;">I fall at His feet and worship Him, for it is the only thing I know to do. I clasp His feet and remember all He has done for me and all He has yet to do. I remember His resurrection - Life from death. Beauty from ashes. Beauty from the torture and the nail scars and the blood red life spilling out everywhere. Beauty from the black of the tomb. And He does this here in my life, He gives us life to the fullest, and we can see Him, even here.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 92.65pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 92.65pt;">We tremble. Because who wouldn’t tremble at the feet of the Savior? At just a glimpse of all He might have planned? But as we trust, we fill with joy and peace, we overflow with hope, just as it is promised. We know all He has done for us, and we know all that He has yet to do when He brings us into His kingdom.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 92.65pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 92.65pt;">And my prayer today is that we might not be afraid. Friend, whatever it is you are facing, do not be afraid. Whatever it is He is calling you to in obedience, rest assured – you will see Him! Go and tell the world of what He has done for us, for you! We can trust Him. 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mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style><![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <!--EndFragment--><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 92.65pt;">*I have asked my friends if I could use their names in these stories in the hopes that you would join me in prayer for each of them. As the Lord brings us to mind would you pray? We are so grateful.<o:p></o:p></div>http://katiedavis.amazima.org/2014/04/after-sabbath-at-dawn-on-first-day-of.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (katie)113tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2695840511970883220.post-2932153799262887134Fri, 07 Mar 2014 08:28:00 +00002014-03-07T00:28:58.795-08:00August 24, 2012...<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">Nearly four years ago she bounced into my life in a dress with a bright red sash. She tentatively called me Mommy after having not known one for nearly her entire five years of life and all signs of trauma were quickly masked with little girls songs and dances and giggles as she adjusted to life in a family.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">Years later I watched her feet run in bright red sneakers toward the towering swing set where she would pretend to fly. We had struggled for joy and were finding it; she had thrashed against love and by God’s grace I was learning to hold on tight.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">She kicked and screamed and did the unspeakable and when logic said that I should be angry or might love her less, I couldn’t and my desire for her was only stronger. And as I saw the extent of her brokenness and mine, I loved her even more.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">Red beads clicked around her face as she skipped into the kitchen to find her head a resting place now nearly at my shoulder, and she whispered of the wounds once covered but never healed and an unfamiliar panic crawled up in the back of my throat and settled in as it hit me, the full weight of how much we had yet to overcome.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">I took her face in my hands and through blurred eyes assured her, assured myself, that Jesus thought of her and her red beads and her red sash as His red blood spilled out, and because I knew that, I knew this – He would not leave us here.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">He didn’t and I saw progress, but the fears stayed. Nights of standing by her bed, days of checking and double checking and checking again. Blame and accusations from the enemy that I could have done something differently, done something better. Anger and hatred toward the sin that could allow someone to do such horrible things to an innocent, helpless child. I knew Beauty. I fought to see Him here.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">Months later on a Tuesday in the still-dark house, I drank too-strong coffee and I drank of His grace. I prayed over my daughter, a splash of red in the tapestry of our family – feisty, powerful and full of care and compassion. I wrestled with the questions of “what if” and “if only” and I told them of His sovereignty, again.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">And right there on the worn pages I read Zechariah call God’s people<i>&nbsp;prisoners of hope</i>.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">And I knew that I hadn’t been. Once more I had become more of a prisoner of overwhelming concern about the trauma of my children’s pasts and shifted my gaze away from what, Who I was really captive to.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">“but in Him, it has always been ‘Yes!’ For no matter how many promises God has made, they are all ‘Yes’ in Christ.” (2 Corinthians 1: 19-20)</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">My flesh wants to shake the head no but I am a prisoner to God who says “Yes!” All of His promises – peace, joy, love, forgiveness, salvation! – they are Yes to me and Yes to her in Christ! Eternity is Yes in Christ.&nbsp;And because of His Yes I can say Yes to all that He gives. Even&nbsp;<i>a</i><i>ll that He allows.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">Hope is my captor – Hope for her healing here which has already begun and hope for our life eternal with Him. Hope that He who began a good work in us is not finished yet and will carry it to completion until the day that He comes and hope that&nbsp;<i>He is coming.<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">The sun peaks over the horizon and dances patterns across the couch. I see with new eyes, a captive of the hope set fully on the grace given me through Christ. I must live my days as this kind of prisoner, because true freedom is only found in being completely captivated by a coming King.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">She who is always the first one awake pulls a book off the shelf and snuggles up next to me in silence, her nine-year-old lankiness curling up like an infant inside waiting arms.&nbsp;I see hope in her – and I see myself. I kick and I scream and I thrash hard against the Father’s love. I shift my focus and become a prisoner to the panic instead of the promise, and still He says, “mine.” He looks at me, broken, and calls me daughter and ever so lovingly pulls me right back in.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">I study her face and can’t imagine that I know only a fraction of His love for her as I whisper the prayers of every morning over her heart, “Jesus you bind up the broken-hearted…set the captives free…comfort those who mourn…bestow beauty instead of ashes… They will be called oaks of righteousness, a display of the Lord’s splendor.” I trace the curve of her face with my fingers and praise Him for such resilience and transformation as I have seen in this child. I praise Him for her salvation and the way she is hungrily learning more about Him each day.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">And then I write it small, on her hand and mine, “prisoner of&nbsp;<i>hope.</i>”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">I want to live as a prisoner to the “Yes.” Remembering all we have seen, we set our hope fully on what we have not yet seen. We place all of our hope and all of our trust and all of our focus on the grace given us through Christ, and we beg to live captured by His promises.</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: center;">******</div><br /><br />I know I have been gone for a while. I think I am just having a hard time expressing all that God has laid on my heart. We are well, and experiencing a season of SO much growth and joy and peace in Him. I am so thankful, and I know that it is in part because of the prayers of so many. Thank you for lifting us up.<br /><br />The Lord put it on my heart today to repost this blog that I wrote a few years ago during a very difficult season. Yesterday during some sweet, quiet nail-painting time, this same little (not-so-little-anymore) one shared with me some of the deep emotions of her heart, and I was once again floored and devastated to think of the way-beyond-their-years experiences each of my children have from their years outside of a safe and loving home. This morning, she bounded into the kitchen, laid her head against my shoulder (is it possible that she is this tall?!) and ask me to tie red ribbons in her hair for school.<br /><br /><i>Red ribbons.</i> To match her red skirt. Isn't He in all the littlest details? He spoke hope over me, and her, once more. And I looked into each one of these young women's faces and saw unimaginable growth and hope and strength in Him. Is there a more devastating love than that we feel for our children? Surely only that which the Father feels toward each one of us.<br /><br />Oh, friends. He is so faithful to us! Wherever you are, whatever impossible, broken situation you are facing, He longs to speak His hope and His favor and His beauty over you. Be blessed as you rest and hope in Him today.http://katiedavis.amazima.org/2014/03/august-24-2012.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (katie)155tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2695840511970883220.post-1776929407527970179Wed, 25 Dec 2013 06:17:00 +00002013-12-24T22:17:02.273-08:00 <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Template>Normal.dotm</o:Template> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>326</o:Words> <o:Characters>1862</o:Characters> <o:Company>Amazima Ministries</o:Company> <o:Lines>15</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>3</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>2286</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>12.0</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings></xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument></xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles></xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]><style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style><![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <br /><div class="MsoNormal">“And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; He is Christ, the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying, ‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men on whom His favor rests.’”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">-Luke 2:8-14</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">You will find Him in a feeding trough.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">You, on whom His favor rests.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">You will find Him where you least expect Him.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Do you hear His whisper this morning? “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You will find me where you least expect me.”</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">This, the very most unexpected place, this is where we find Him. Even more, this is where He finds us. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">In the long dark nights, in the lowering of my friends’ bodies into the dark earth, in the resettling of their children into foster-families, in the impossibly hard parenting and the shepherding of my children through searing loss, I have known Jesus. In the endless blending and grinding of food for a feeding tube, and the endless chopping of carrots for soup, and the long lists of spelling words and multiplication facts, and the unexpected joy of just <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">being</i>, we have known Jesus. In the blazing hot sun, in the forever-caked-on-my-heels red mud, over the thousands of potholes, I have known impossible, unexpected Grace.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">And this is my prayer for you this Christmas. That in the very most unlikely places, in the hard and the hurt and the dark, you would know the unexpected hope that can only come from our Savior. Impossible grace abounds, even where we least expect it.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Can you hear it? His message to the shepherds is His message to us today. “You will find a baby lying in a manger. You will find my love where you least expect it. You will find me in the mud, in the muck, in the dirt. And in the mess of your sin and the hurt of this life, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I will find you.</i>”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Merry Christmas. May impossible, unexpected grace be yours through Christ our Savior.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s6PgqHBDB0A/UrpyUp2uYJI/AAAAAAAABNk/oYvz9-p4yBc/s1600/_0004084.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s6PgqHBDB0A/UrpyUp2uYJI/AAAAAAAABNk/oYvz9-p4yBc/s320/_0004084.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AVo4fkJNFco/UrpyHp9iiJI/AAAAAAAABNc/yqcXzqgkjNc/s1600/_0004475-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AVo4fkJNFco/UrpyHp9iiJI/AAAAAAAABNc/yqcXzqgkjNc/s320/_0004475-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><!--EndFragment-->http://katiedavis.amazima.org/2013/12/normal.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (katie)144tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2695840511970883220.post-6532000816965078044Mon, 23 Dec 2013 20:01:00 +00002013-12-23T12:01:41.901-08:00<br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Can you imagine the stench?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Joseph has walked and Mary ridden 90 miles in the scorching sun, the wind whipping around their faces and caking them with dust from the dirt road. More sweat pours from Mary’s brow as she experiences the pains of labor for the first time. The stable is packed with all the travelers’ animals. Flies buzz around them in the heat and the air is heavy with the smells of sickly sweet hay and manure.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">And into this, a baby enters.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">I have witnessed this kind of birth before. Woman sighs and baby falls right into the dirt, and in the dark of a tiny mud hut, with the light of just a thin candle, our eyes search for something, anything, sharp to cut the cord. Water is a luxury and too far to fetch at this hour so we wrap the baby in whatever filthy rag-scraps we can find without even wiping her off first.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5699008273248038322" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cX3G9yWLw5I/Txbx1HL2LbI/AAAAAAAABAo/g78gy3RhHX8/s400/154274_473890319261_502044261_5916886_3887604_n.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; height: 400px; width: 267px;" /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Joseph, still merely a child himself, searches for anything he can find in the dim light to cut the cord and swaddle his child, probably rags carrying the afore mentioned stench and the dirt of the journey. Trembling and exhausted they wrap Him as best they can, and swatting flies away lay him in the same trough out of which these animals have been eating.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Behold, the Savior.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">And in this moment God fulfils every promise and every prophecy. This, God’s perfect time. God does not wait for the world to get ready, He enters right into the mess.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">He makes Himself very least, no more status or opportunity than an easily overlooked infant in the slums where I spend so many hard hours. Very least so that He can commune with the very most desperate – you and me. He doesn’t mind that I am not ready yet and He doesn’t mind the wretched condition of my heart or the stench of my sin.&nbsp;<i>God’s time is now</i>&nbsp;and He enters into the mess, ready or not.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">His perfect timing,&nbsp;<i>now</i>. Now is where He has called us. And we are just not ready yet. We need to clean up the house a bit and pray a little more and seek more counsel and we don’t know how to do that yet and oh, we have our excuses. And God says, “I’m here now, and I am ok with the mess because&nbsp;<i>I am here for the messy</i>.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">God doesn’t need us to be ready for Him; He has been ready for us since the beginning of time and the Messiah is here calling us to commune with the Holy One, to eat at His table.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">I want the house to be organized and kids to be clean and nicely dressed and I want dinner to come out of the oven on time, but at the end of the day they laundry still piles and there are still crumbs in the corner and can anyone remember if I brushed my teeth today? And it can’t be the New Year yet because&nbsp;<i>I am just not ready</i>&nbsp;for it to be a new year yet.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">But I remember when I wasn’t ready to move to Uganda. I remember when I wasn’t ready to kiss the people I loved the most goodbye. I remember when I didn’t have enough money to sponsor just ten children, and I remember when I wasn’t old enough to be a mother, and I remember when I didn’t know how to parent. I remember when I couldn’t cook for fifteen people and when I didn’t want to share my house and my things and my life with sick people and addicts. I remember when I was afraid of the slum community that now holds hundreds of friends and when I was terrified that my daughter would never walk and when I was scared that we would never heal after tragic loss. And I remember that never, not once, was I really as ready as I wanted to be. And I&nbsp;<i>remember that God kept all His promises</i>,<i>&nbsp;</i>every last one, in His perfect time.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">This new season looms and I don’t know what is next. But He doesn’t need me to be ready for this season because&nbsp;<i>He is ready.</i>&nbsp;He just needs me to be clinging to His feet.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Now. This is where He has called us.</div>http://katiedavis.amazima.org/2013/12/can-you-imagine-stench-joseph-has.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (katie)66tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2695840511970883220.post-1529726783894742018Fri, 15 Nov 2013 08:13:00 +00002013-11-15T00:13:00.494-08:00Over here today...<a href="http://www.redletterchristians.org/now-red-carpet-katie-davis/">&nbsp;http://www.redletterchristians.org/now-red-carpet-katie-davis/</a><div><br /></div><div>A little bit more of a candid view into our daily life. I am humbled and thankful!</div><div><br /></div><div>(and what a goofy picture!)</div>http://katiedavis.amazima.org/2013/11/over-here-today.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (katie)44tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2695840511970883220.post-8713644696108676331Thu, 07 Nov 2013 12:54:00 +00002013-11-07T04:54:07.620-08:00<!--StartFragment--> <br /><div class="MsoNormal">Just one little bird.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>She’s up when the stillness of 5:30 nudges me awake and I struggle to peel back heavy eyelids. She’s up and she sings. I wonder how she can even tell that it’s almost morning. I wonder why she sings yet. I tip-toe to the coffee pot and flick on barely enough lights as to not wake my children, and this is my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">quiet</i> time and I briefly just wish that one little bird would be quiet.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">“It’s not light yet. Shhhh. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">It’s not light yet.”<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I lift my eyes from the worn pages of Isaiah and my gaze falls on Sarah’s notebook, left haphazardly on the table after yesterday’s writing assignment. She wrote that I was brave. That I had courage. But as I sit there in the dark, I think that I am not.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I miss my friends. I know where they are, and that it is better, by far, than suffering and sickness, but I wish they were here. I miss Betty’s smile as I wiped her forehead and the way her weak hand felt in mine, her fingernails hot-pink. I miss the still, quiet hours by her bedside and the way her eyes understood even if her ears did not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I miss Katherine’s laugh, loud and audacious and when I see her children smile, I see her, and I wish the ending had been different. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">And I see Sarah’s words on the paper, “Our sick friend lived with us for a long time and my mom was brave and took care of her. I saw her praying for her and I know that she was loved and cared for. My mom kept her, and she had courage.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">And I cry, because I do not feel courageous. I feel downright defeated sometimes. Maybe courage is not at all about the absence of fear but about obedience even when we are afraid. Courage is trusting when we don’t know what is next, leaning into the hard and knowing that it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">will</i> be hard, but more, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">God will be near.</i> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>Maybe bravery is just looking fear in the face and telling it that is dos not win because <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I have known The Lord here.</i> I have known The Lord in the long, dark night.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">The little bird sings loud in the dark. And slowly, the sun peaks over the horizon.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">At school I ask Joyce what her definition of courage is, and she says, “to have faith.” Maybe that is just it. That we still tremble, but more than that we have faith. That even though we feel uncertain, we press into a God who is so certain, so sure, so steady. He carries us, He lifts our heads. And His unfailing love and comfort becomes our courage and our hope.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">It is days later and it is raining. The huge drops pelt our tin roof so hard that we can hardly hear a thing, but as the rain slows, I make out a familiar noise and I laugh. It is the same little bird that cannot contain her song too early in the morning. I wonder where she is and how she can keep singing in this storm. I wonder why she sings. But the rain slows to a trickle and the sun peaks from behind the clouds and suddenly all I can hear is her glorious song.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">“To have faith, “I think. And I wonder, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">does she sing because she knows the sun is coming?<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">And I want to be just like that little bird.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Hope is a crazy thing, a courageous thing. That little bird, she feels the sun coming, knows with certainty that it will come, even when she can’t quite see it yet.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">We live in a world where innocent people suffer and good friends die and stories don’t have the endings we prayed for, and the pain and the hurt, it is everywhere. But the Joy and the Hope that we find in our Savior? It is everywhere, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I do not have all the answers; in fact, I don’t have many at all. But this is what I know: God is who He says He is. And in the hurt and the pain and the suffering, God is near, and He is good, even when the ending isn’t.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">And I can sing, because I know what is coming. I can hope, because I know <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Who is coming.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">In the dark of the night, I have seen His face, and I have known His promises to be true, and I know the Light is coming.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">And I want to be brave enough to hold out the hope of the Gospel to a world that is hurting and alone and afraid. Not a hope that is the absence of pain or heartache or suffering, not optimism disguised as hope that waits for the best-case scenario or happy ending, but a Hope that is the knowledge and full assurance that our Savior is on His way. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s not light yet, but I know Him, the One who is the Light.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">And so in the dark, I will sing.</div><!--EndFragment--> http://katiedavis.amazima.org/2013/11/just-one-little-bird.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (katie)163tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2695840511970883220.post-5094487933927812252Fri, 11 Oct 2013 07:50:00 +00002013-10-11T00:50:32.445-07:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Eight-year-old Angela Amoiti lives deep in the Ugandan village of Buyizia. As we travel on the washed out roads, Angela informs us this is her first time in a motorcar.&nbsp;Winding roads and thick trees hide the home where this beautiful girl lives with her mother, father, and sister Sarah.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Neighboring children meet us on the road and walk alongside the car to Angela’s home... </span><a href="http://blog.amazima.org/">read more about my friend Angela here</a>http://katiedavis.amazima.org/2013/10/eight-year-old-angela-amoiti-lives-deep.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (katie)26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2695840511970883220.post-7300719519318227022Sun, 25 Aug 2013 18:13:00 +00002013-08-25T11:13:57.773-07:00Want to keep up with all we are doing over here at Amazima?<br /><br /><a href="http://www.amazimaministries.blogspot.com/">Click here!</a><br /><br />Here is &nbsp;our latest:<br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Last week, Amazima hosted our first support group for Amazima families affected by HIV and AIDS. &nbsp;It got off to a late start as here in Uganda, "9am" means "around noon." After everyone showed up, we began with a prayer and the workshop began!<br /><br />Each person in attendance introduced themselves and shared how they are related to Amazima. Glory was given to God while discussing all of the ways he has carried our families. Through the hard times and the good times, everyone agreed that God is good- ALL the time!<br /><br />Following introductions, we started the day by going over basic information about HIV and AIDS. Although basic facts are pretty well known among the Ugandan families, they are often times mixed with misinformation. This educational segment of the day provided us with a great opportunity to debunk any myths circling around the communities. Our favorite truth to promote? &nbsp;<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><a href="http://bit.ly/AMI-HIV" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">HIV is NOT a death sentence!</a></span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><a href="http://www.amazimaministries.blogspot.com/">Read more...</a></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span>http://katiedavis.amazima.org/2013/08/want-to-keep-up-with-all-we-are-doing.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (katie)48tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2695840511970883220.post-5641129564722377845Fri, 02 Aug 2013 08:34:00 +00002013-08-09T02:28:09.395-07:00<!--StartFragment--> <br /><div class="MsoNormal">I know, I kind of abandoned ship here for a while. I didn’t mean to leave you hanging.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Katherine’s death has taken me a lot longer to process than most things usually do. Maybe because it felt like a big final loss after a season of lots and lots of losses. Maybe because I have a tendency to want to see redemption here and now, to want to tie it all up in a neat little package, even though I know that His ways are not my ways and a “good ending” is not always seen in this lifetime. Maybe because I feel that I should have some kind of understanding before I bear my heart to the world.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Friends, God is still good and God is still working. In a season of much loss and much hardship, He whispers, “Look how far I have carried you. And still I go before you.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">But trying to tell you where I am at right now feels a little like trying to serve grape juice as wine. Words on a screen feel like a cheap substitute, unable to capture the grace and the mercy that God has shown us during this season, unable to explain the nearness I have felt and the new ways the Father is revealing His heart to me.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">There is joy in this place. There is peace in this place. It is Jesus. He is very near to us. And I am writing it all down in hopes that one day soon I will again feel that it is time to share it with the world.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">But for now there is something very sacred about sharing my heart with Jesus only.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Thank you for those of you who continue to check in on us and who continue to pray. That you would sit before the Father on our behalf means more to me than I could ever tell you here. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://kissesfromkatie.blogspot.com/2013_04_01_archive.html">Betty</a> is still living with us. She is a constant reminder of God’s love to me. Health wise, she is recovering very slowly, but she knows the Savior and she is a fighter. She is full of joy, and it is our joy to care for her.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.amazimaministries.blogspot.com/2013/06/prayer-request-surgery-for-simon.html">Simon</a> and his grandmother are also living with us while Simon gains weight and gets ready for another surgery. Simon’s grandmother is darling and extremely devoted to caring for Simon. It is always a bit stretching to share our home with new people for an extended period of time, but I am thankful for the way the Father grows us in community, the way that He can turn strangers into family.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://kissesfromkatie.blogspot.com/2012/12/the-spirit-of-lord-god-is-upon-me.html">The girls</a> are doing phenomenally well, growing like weeds and doing great in school. Watching them grow in their knowledge and love of the Lord is by far the best part of parenting. Without a doubt, parenting reveals to me more of my own depravity and more of my loving Father’s heart than anything else ever could. I am humbled and grateful.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">To all who ask the question, "Are you ok?" The answer is a resounding "Yes." I am more in love with my Savior than I have ever been before. I pray that each day my love for Him would only grow. He is good to us, friends, and He doesn't ever, ever leave.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Thank you, again for your prayers and your love. I will be back soon. You can continue to keep up with Amazima <a href="http://www.amazimaministries.blogspot.com/">here </a>in the mean time.</div><!--EndFragment--> http://katiedavis.amazima.org/2013/08/i-know-i-kind-of-abandoned-ship-here.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (katie)109tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2695840511970883220.post-5858255868393619216Sat, 27 Apr 2013 05:29:00 +00002013-04-26T22:33:23.774-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><!--StartFragment--> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">She reaches for my hand and smiles. I reach for hers and I force a smile back, force myself to look truly joyful. I want her to know joy here. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I want to know joy here.<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">At 26 years old Betty is the beautiful mother of a 3 year old little boy. She weighs 69 pounds and battles AIDS, tuberculosis and all the complications that come with the two. We know the drill. She reaches out her hand and it reminds me so much of a <a href="http://kissesfromkatie.blogspot.com/2013_02_01_archive.html">hand I held once</a>, of a woman I loved hard, of a friend who became a family member.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">I fight the tears and I force a smile. After all, she might live. She could live, and right now, I know she needs me to believe that she will. How do you keep believing that when the last time you were wrong? When the time before that, and the time before that you were wrong? I sit down on the side of my couch that is now her bed and I ask her about her family. A hot feeling surges up in the back of my throat as I feel my heart start to put up a wall. I know better. I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">should</i> know better.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">After all, my job is to believe with out wavering. His job is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">everything else.</i></div><!--EndFragment--> <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jImfYz7p22I/UXrGb5VLCII/AAAAAAAABMo/nkaa6XGhjy8/s1600/IMG_5128+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jImfYz7p22I/UXrGb5VLCII/AAAAAAAABMo/nkaa6XGhjy8/s640/IMG_5128+2.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><!--StartFragment--> <br /><div class="MsoNormal"><!--StartFragment--> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Just then a having an issue of blood for twelve years came up behind Him and touched the edge of His cloak. She said to herself, “If only I touch His cloak, I will be healed.” Jesus turned and saw her. “Take heart, daughter, “ He said, “Your faith has healed you. And the woman was healed from that moment. (Matthew 9:20-22)<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I resonate deeply with this woman. I can see her, reaching out for his hem. I can feel the strain, that desperate reaching, longing just to touch Him, just even the very edge. A longing for only Him.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I am the woman with the issue of blood. Except I am the woman with the issue of doubt. I am the woman with the issue of sin, with the issue of flesh, with the issue of forgetfulness. I am a woman who wants to snap my arms shut and protect, fold my arms tight around this chest to guard my heart that is still so raw and exposed from being broken. I want to gather these children to myself and shelter them from the ugly hurt of this world.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">But I can’t fold my arms and simultaneously reach out for my Savior. I reach for Him and I have no choice but to fling my arms wide again. I reach for Betty’s hand and I know, just like that woman, I must seek Him. I must know Him. “If only I touch His cloak…” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">And do you know what? He isn’t out of reach. I stretch out my arm and I realize that He is right here, just two steps in front of me, clearing the way. The sweet promises of Isaiah flood my mind, “His robe filled the temple.” I reach and I feel that His hem is wide, enough for me and for you and today and tomorrow. Enough to fill and enough to overflow.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><!--StartFragment--> </div><div class="MsoNormal">Some time last week in the too-early hours of the morning, I asked God why He allowed me to believe so strongly that Katherine would live when she wasn’t actually going to. I can usually get a pretty good sense for those things. It is hard for me to think that My Father saw me in my hope, He knew I was believing, and He simultaneously knew the ending. I think He answered that He gave me the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">grace</i> to believe that she would live so that in her final days she would feel hope and high spirits all around her, so that she would feel that she was fought for and that she was worth the fight. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">She was worth it.<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Its His message to us on the cross and it is His message to the woman with the issue of blood as He stoops down to look into her eyes, to speak to her, to meet her need: “You are worth it.” And I want it to be my message to these hurting that He brings into our lives: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You</i>, you are worth it. We are for you. <i>He is for you.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I want my life to be found in chasing after Him and I want my arms to be filled, not just reaching for, but gathering in the hem of Jesus. His&nbsp;robe fills the temple. His glory fills the earth. I want my arms to be filled with gathering His grace, His love, His goodness. I want to follow Him wherever He is going and be so full of Him that He is overflowing out of my arms, out of my very life.&nbsp;Even when it means reaching out my hand with a smile to a situation that might hurt,&nbsp;<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">will</i>&nbsp;hurt. &nbsp;<a href="http://kissesfromkatie.blogspot.com/2012/12/so-these-are-your-treatment-options_13.html">He gave me the grace to hope.</a><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>And so I am asking that He would give more grace, again, even if it is harder to grasp this time. Grace to feel joy and grace to hope for life and grace to fight hard, because people are worth the fight. Grace to have arms so filled with Him that they have to remain open, and that He spills out.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><!--StartFragment--> </div><div class="MsoNormal">I look at Betty and my joy is real. We open our arms to her because she is worth it.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">And I wanted you to know today, that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you</i> are worth it. He fought for you. You reach, and He bends, He cups your face in His hands and He says, “Take heart. Be healed. <i>I am for you.</i>” I pray we would know deeply His love for us. I pray that we would fight for His love in this world because we know. Keep reaching, friend, He’s right here. His hem is wide. Let's fill our arms with gathering it.</div><!--EndFragment--> <br /><!--EndFragment--> <br /><!--EndFragment--> <br /><!--EndFragment--> <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gKhNplQNByM/UXrGq97PXEI/AAAAAAAABMw/c946gsiYeFk/s1600/IMG_5144+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gKhNplQNByM/UXrGq97PXEI/AAAAAAAABMw/c946gsiYeFk/s640/IMG_5144+2.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><i><br /></i><i>Thank you for praying for Betty with us. I will post more frequent updates here:&nbsp;<a href="https://twitter.com/katieinuganda">https://twitter.com/katieinuganda&nbsp;</a></i>http://katiedavis.amazima.org/2013/04/she-reaches-for-my-hand-and-smiles.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (katie)183tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2695840511970883220.post-8145032014712324085Thu, 14 Feb 2013 17:09:00 +00002013-02-15T10:46:02.118-08:00<!--StartFragment--> <br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;I&nbsp;</span>can’t believe that it has been over a month now since I patted my sweet friend’s head as I said goodnight to her small frame on my couch. I can’t believe it has been over a month since I sat behind her in the hospital bed holding her body in the only position that was comfortable in those final hours.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">And truth be told, in the late night hours alone with the Father on the cold, hard floor of my bathroom, I have beat my fists against the smooth tile and against my strong Father’s chest and I have sobbed it until the words won’t come, “I can’t believe she’s dead.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">We fought so hard.<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">It is her little boy’s sixth birthday. We had talked for weeks about the party we would have, with a cake, but that was when they still lived here, when his mother still lived. Instead, I drive across the bridge to where he is now being raised by his aunt and a kind neighbor. We bring the cake. We sing Happy Birthday and he is ok and the kids have fun and are happy. And as we drive away and all smile and wave, I cry.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I didn’t want the story to end this way.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I wrote the ending in my head and it was the ending where my friend gets better, becomes strong and healthy, and is able to move out with her children. It was the ending where they get to sign their names on the bottom of our table to be remembered as friends who lived here and fellowshipped with us and we would all cry happy tears as we served them their last meal before they headed out to their new life healthy and whole. In the ending I wrote, I didn’t have to look 4 children under the age of ten in the eyes and tell them that their mother died in the night as I bounce their baby sister on my knee to keep her quiet. In my ending I didn’t spend every hour of 5 consecutive days fighting and fighting and fighting for a mother to get well and end up clinging to my best friend as we lower a body into a casket.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">But His voice comes strong, steady, clear, “Child, this is not the end.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">And behold, some men were bringing on a bed a man who was paralyzed and they were seeking to bring him before Jesus, but finding no way to bring him in because of the crowd, they went up on the roof and let him down with his bed through the tiles into the midst before Jesus. And when He saw their faith He said, “Man, your sins are forgiven you.”<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">First, He forgave their sins. First, He secured the eternal. Because really, what is a few more years of walking in comparison to an eternity of worship and sins all forgiven?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Death is not the end. Then end was when He hung on a cross and rose from a tomb and I asked for life, and Life is what He gave. Better, glorious, eternal Life. In those final hours, I held my friend’s head, and I watched her chest heave as her soul first laid eyes on His face and I could nearly feel His breath on mine. And no, I do not know His ways, but I know Him. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I know Him.</i> And I do not just lay my friends before Jesus for physical healing but that they might know Him too, that they might be saved. And Katherine, she knows Him.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">We fought so hard. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">And still we won. He won.<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">This week I take a two-month-old baby to the doctor to confirm that he has a terminal skin condition that causes burn-like blisters to cover his entire body and will ultimately lead to his death. There is no treatment. I wrap and dress the wounds because I know how. Because keeping them clean will prevent infection and anemia from blood loss and prolong his life. But I recognize that prolonging his life will ultimately prolong his suffering.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I take a grandfather from our community in for a check-up. Cancer. It is everywhere. They give him a few months, weeks maybe. We try to make him comfortable, and keep him company. We tell stories of a Father who would send a Son, the only sacrifice that could absolve all this sin, the only blood that could wash us snow white. But part of me still wants to fight. Still wants to research, still wants to explore other options, still will not believe that this is it.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">There is something so sacred about the fight for life. I believe that God wants us to fight. There is a focus that comes from being so close to death, a clarity, a purpose. My heart that still fought for Katherine and believed for her healing even when my mind knew there were no more options cries out that this can’t be it, this cannot be the end, there must be something else. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">This is the audacity of hope.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">We fight and we wait and a watching world says, “Why hope for life in a world of death?” And we know the answer. My heart is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">right</i>. This isn’t it, this is not the end, and there<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> is</i> something else. His life is better.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Our fight is not for this life, our fight is for eternity.&nbsp;</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">We wanted to let you know that our friend went to be with her Maker. We wanted to thank you for praying. And we wanted to encourage you that the fight on this side of heaven is not over yet. But we look at the pain and the suffering all around us and strange as it is, our hope only grows. We know Him and so we lift our heads to the Life-Giver and say, “We rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, endurance produces character, character produces hope, and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">our hope does not disappoint us </i>because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts by the Holy Spirit.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Here’s to hope, friends, a hope that does not disappoint. Keep fighting for the Gospel, keep fighting for Life, because He has already won.</div><!--EndFragment--> http://katiedavis.amazima.org/2013/02/cant-believethat-it-has-been-over-month.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (katie)245tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2695840511970883220.post-42440063474179029Tue, 25 Dec 2012 05:01:00 +00002012-12-24T21:01:17.129-08:00Some people get presents under their Christmas tree.<br /><br />Me? I get a family of 5. 4 children under 8 and their mother sleep on the couches and on mattresses laid out on the living room floor.<br /><br />It's 5:30 am and I find a place to squeeze in between the pile of children and blankets and attempt to have some "quiet time" by the light of the Christmas tree. I am distracted. Her kids all have a cough and they breathe heavily and toss and turn all around me. Her chest heaves and a small moan escapes her lips. The rain pounds loudly on the tin roof and we need this rain so I try to be thankful for it. I dream for her future. I dream that she'll live. I fleetingly wonder if there are relative who will raise this brood of young ones if she doesn't.<br /><br />I wonder what their future will hold. I wonder what this day will hold. I watch their chests move up and down and hear my precious ones begin to stir in the other room, and I wonder if I can so it again today, the 17 children and the sick and the broken and those who will come for dinner and just all of these lives with all of their needs. The house is all a-twinkle, and I remind myself of all God's promises fulfilled in a baby and breathe it deep, Grace.<br /><br />And I am so thankful that Jesus meets us in these squished places. In the stretched places. In-the-squeezed-between-the-tree-and-the-kids moments, in the desperate-for-quiet-on-the-bathroom-floor-because-everywhere-else-is-full moments.<br /><br />I read Luke. I think of Bethlehem and how it had no room, and I think of how His parents squeezed between the animals to place Him in a feeding trough. The shepherds gazed in wonder but Mary held all this wonder in the silence of her heart. I bet she dreamed of His future. I bet it was muddy and loud in there, but the sky was all a-twinkle with the light of that star, the heavens bursting with joy at God's promises all fulfilled, Grace.<br /><br />I look around and know: this is what He came for. The King of the universe who created all things, even life itself, clothed in splendor, took off His royal robes, laid aside His crown and squeezed all of the fullness of God into the womb of a woman and then into swaddling clothes in a manger.<br /><br />He calls my name right here and how I long to recognize Him here, right here.<br /><br />The squished places and the stretched places, the moments that are loud and messy and uncertain, this is what He came for. The heartaches and the doubt and the wounds that our sin carves deep, that's why He is here. And all this life hanging in the dark of the morning, isn't this why we wait, why we celebrate? Isn't this why we light up the candles and the tree and the house and say with all the longing in our hearts, "Come, Lord Jesus"?<br /><br />Come, Lord Jesus.<br /><br />This morning in the dark, in the rain, in whatever mess or squished place or heartache you find yourself in, all God's promises are Yes and Amen, and we can rejoice in thanksgiving! The Savior is here with us, Grace.<br /><br />His promise is Yes to you, friends. "Yes, I have come, and Yes, I am coming. Yes, I am with you always, even to the very end of the age."<br /><br />I pray that you'll recognize His handprints all over your day today.<br /><br />Merry Christmas.http://katiedavis.amazima.org/2012/12/some-people-get-presents-under-their.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (katie)187tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2695840511970883220.post-6930792983470232273Thu, 20 Dec 2012 19:03:00 +00002012-12-20T11:03:00.899-08:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3JEFMFUyup0/UNNZypn8XdI/AAAAAAAABMI/2J3E6vIDRGA/s1600/IMG_2144.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3JEFMFUyup0/UNNZypn8XdI/AAAAAAAABMI/2J3E6vIDRGA/s640/IMG_2144.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me,</div><div style="text-align: center;">because the Lord has anointed me&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: center;">to bring good news to the poor;</div><div style="text-align: center;">he has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,</div><div style="text-align: center;">to proclaim liberty to the captives,</div><div style="text-align: center;">and the opening of the prison to those who are bound;</div><div style="text-align: center;">to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor</div><div style="text-align: center;">and the day of vengeance of our God;</div><div style="text-align: center;">to comfort all who mourn.</div><div style="text-align: center;">To grant to those who mourn in Zion -&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: center;">to give them a beautiful headdress instead of ashes,</div><div style="text-align: center;">the oil of gladness instead of mourning;</div><div style="text-align: center;">the garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair,&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: center;">that they may be called oaks of righteousness,</div><div style="text-align: center;">the planting of the Lord, that he may be glorified.</div><div style="text-align: center;">They shall build up the ancient ruins;</div><div style="text-align: center;">they shall raise up the former devastations;</div><div style="text-align: center;">they shall repair cities,</div><div style="text-align: center;">the devastations of many generations.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Strangers shall stand and tend your flocks'</div><div style="text-align: center;">foreigners shall be your plowmen and your vinedressers,</div><div style="text-align: center;">but you shall be called priests of the Lord;</div><div style="text-align: center;">they shall speak of you as the ministers of our God;</div><div style="text-align: center;">you shall eat the wealth of nations,</div><div style="text-align: center;">and in their glory you shall boast.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Instead of shame, there shall be a double portion;</div><div style="text-align: center;">instead of dishonor they shall rejoice in their lot;</div><div style="text-align: center;">therefore in their land they shall possess a double portions;</div><div style="text-align: center;">they shall have everlasting joy.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">For I the Lord love justice;</div><div style="text-align: center;">I hate robbery and iniquity;</div><div style="text-align: center;">I will faithfully give them their recompense,</div><div style="text-align: center;">and I will make an everlasting covenant with them.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Their offspring shall be known among the nations,</div><div style="text-align: center;">and their descendants in the midst of the peoples;</div><div style="text-align: center;">al who see them shall acknowledge them,</div><div style="text-align: center;">that they are an offspring the Lord has blessed.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I will greatly rejoice in the Lord;</div><div style="text-align: center;">mys soul shall exult in my God,</div><div style="text-align: center;">for he has clothed me with garments of salvation;</div><div style="text-align: center;">He has covered me in the robe of righteousness.</div><div style="text-align: center;">as a bridegroom decks himself like a priest with a beautiful headdress,</div><div style="text-align: center;">and as a brie adorns herself with jewels.</div><div style="text-align: center;">For as the earth brings forth its sprouts.</div><div style="text-align: center;">and as a garden causes what is sown in ti to sprout up,</div><div style="text-align: center;">so the Lord God will cause righteousness and praise</div><div style="text-align: center;">to sprout up before all nations.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Isaiah 61</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Oh, how He has loved us! Merry Christmas, from our family to yours!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Kao_STIrpjc/UNNZORexFjI/AAAAAAAABL4/Pb_V6tC5Kss/s1600/IMG_2127.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="516" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Kao_STIrpjc/UNNZORexFjI/AAAAAAAABL4/Pb_V6tC5Kss/s640/IMG_2127.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>http://katiedavis.amazima.org/2012/12/the-spirit-of-lord-god-is-upon-me.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (katie)97tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2695840511970883220.post-290298763979365398Thu, 13 Dec 2012 19:06:00 +00002012-12-13T11:06:34.355-08:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IjqamkgFaYU/UMoEPrQ4ezI/AAAAAAAABKo/pYIrmXyoxn8/s1600/IMG_0651.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IjqamkgFaYU/UMoEPrQ4ezI/AAAAAAAABKo/pYIrmXyoxn8/s640/IMG_0651.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />"So these are your treatment options..." I choke back a sob and let my voice trail off. How do I present a 30 year old mother of 5 with the fact that we've already done all we can do? "...I will support you, whatever you choose." I turn so she doesn't see me blink back the tears.<br /><br />"For me, I would like to choose life." The words are steady, certain. "My children are still so young. I would like to live."<br /><br />I choke with all the times I have taken this breath in my lungs for granted. The tears burn hot but I try not to let them fall. Not yet. Its not over yet. Yes, dear friend, oh yes, how I want you to live.<br /><br />There are days we stare death in the face around here. Sometimes the right diet and medication just isn't enough and the heart pumps too hard and the chest heaves for breath and we see it coming. Other times we blink and a life is gone. Sometimes friends cling tightly to life and are given a miraculous second chance. Other times they cling to my hand as I whisper that Jesus is right on the other side and they slip away to be with Him. I feel it coming, but I don't want to. I watch her smile at her children and I can't help but hope. I know the God who works miracles, the One who calls things that are not as though they were. I know Him, and I can't help but ask it, "<i>Oh Lord,&nbsp;might she live</i>?"<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DW0B5z5mUdI/UMoE3gauHPI/AAAAAAAABK0/p5cuWvS28j4/s1600/IMG_0512.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DW0B5z5mUdI/UMoE3gauHPI/AAAAAAAABK0/p5cuWvS28j4/s640/IMG_0512.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DvV8qxD09O4/UMoFDtDeO9I/AAAAAAAABLE/jV6nfQnAPoQ/s1600/IMG_0543.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DvV8qxD09O4/UMoFDtDeO9I/AAAAAAAABLE/jV6nfQnAPoQ/s640/IMG_0543.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I think of a few men carrying their paralyzed friend on a mat, desperate to lay him at the feet of Jesus. I think of how cumbersome it must have been to try to get him up on that roof, how difficult it must have been to remove the tiles so they could lower him down through the ceiling to the Lord, into the middle of the crowd, right in front of Jesus (Luke 5:17-25). I think I know the desperation they must have felt, the urgency to get him there. I remember that because of the faith of the men, Jesus forgave their friend's sin, and for His glory alone, He healed that man's legs as well, told him to get up and walk.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I know this God.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And I, too, want to choose life.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And even when I have seen one too many die of this horrible, life-sucking disease we call AIDS, I want to choose to fight. And even when temptation and despair is overwhelming, I want to choose hope. And even when man's sin and depravity threaten to be all consuming, I want to choose the victory that is in Christ Jesus.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>I want to choose Life.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I know the prognosis. I read the reports and the chest x-rays and the liver panel and I knew the doctor's speech before he gave it, that the antiretrovirals meant to save her life were tearing her stomach apart and that 80 pounds is just too small for a woman of five and a half feet. I know what the world says.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But she would like to live. <i>And I know the Life-Giver.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0TcecHb5BQU/UMoFroeFKyI/AAAAAAAABLU/bYpJqE5tKyo/s1600/IMG_0595.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0TcecHb5BQU/UMoFroeFKyI/AAAAAAAABLU/bYpJqE5tKyo/s640/IMG_0595.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I want to show her. I want to show her how we hope against hope, believe against all the impossible that He who died to give us life is making all things beautiful and perfect. I want to show her the One who is Life and how we know that His ways are better and higher and that He is working all things for our good, but still we can ask for a miracle; we beg for it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I clasp her hand and I close my eyes and tonight I want to bring her into the middle of the crowd, right in front of Jesus. I tuck them all in and I hand her a glass of milk with her medicine and we watch her children's chests rise and fall with sleep on these mattresses all over the floor as hers heaves hard for each breath.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I know the Life-Giver. So tonight I lower my friend Katherine through the roof. I beg on her behalf, on the behalf of her children that she might know Him more and that for His glory alone He might heal her, call her to get up and walk.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Would you join me?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZvW33x63d7g/UMoFAmEIPQI/AAAAAAAABK8/OnaREGFRrgw/s1600/IMG_0517.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="386" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZvW33x63d7g/UMoFAmEIPQI/AAAAAAAABK8/OnaREGFRrgw/s640/IMG_0517.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />http://katiedavis.amazima.org/2012/12/so-these-are-your-treatment-options_13.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (katie)241tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2695840511970883220.post-73924709311596259Fri, 23 Nov 2012 09:18:00 +00002012-11-23T01:18:15.534-08:00<div style="text-align: center;">Happy Thanksgiving from our family to yours!!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">http://amazimaministries.blogspot.com/2012/11/happy-thanksgiving.html</div>http://katiedavis.amazima.org/2012/11/happy-thanksgiving-from-our-family-to.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (katie)30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2695840511970883220.post-5521334542585024145Tue, 13 Nov 2012 18:45:00 +00002012-11-15T00:12:42.235-08:00<!--StartFragment--> <br /><div class="MsoNormal">I watch the tears roll down her cheeks and am devastated for her. I know she must be crying because of the pain of her burns or because of the pain in her heart at the thought of her husband pushing her into the fire. I place my hand on her shoulder and my eyes beckon her to share.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">“My stomach is hurting,” she says, and that’s not what I was expecting, “This is the first time I have eaten this week.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s Thursday.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I pray because I don’t know what else to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Sure, I can feed this woman lunch but after a week of an empty stomach that may just hurt more than it helps, and I can’t do much to change her situation, to relieve her of her abusive husband or her job picking scrap metal out of the garbage heap. I can feed her now but she goes home to 3 starving children and a future that seems utterly hopeless. We pray.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I get a middle of the night text from a dear friend who has been more of an encouragement to me than she will ever know. Her mom’s biopsy results have come back and the tumor on her brain is cancerous. I can barely choke out words to say that my heart is so heavy for her, that we will carry this burden with them in prayer. I am blown away by her strength and feel completely un-encouraging. We pray.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">The hurt doesn’t stop. A teenager needs his leg amputated because an infection that could have been preventable is now out of control. A 4-year-old’s arm is permanently damaged because his mom didn’t have enough money to have it casted when he broke it a few months ago. My friend carries the unborn child of her late husband but confides in me that she would rather not. 5 children in our program watch their mother fight HIV which is rapidly sucking the life right out of her. Another friend threatens to abandon her children (again) because she just can’t make enough money to make ends meet and she would rather be apart from them than watch them suffer.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">We move them into that little house in the back and we ask for miracles.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">13 hearts are growing into women under my roof and need more and more of Mom, more and more of His truth. I sit, erase the to-do list from my mind and will myself to be present, to be available. The gate opens again and again and the phone rings and all these people, they just want to know that they are not alone in their hurt, just want to be heard.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">So many hearts to tend.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Who is God on the days when love just doesn’t feel like enough?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I have been reading through the book of Revelation. I’ll be honest, even after reading several commentaries and looking up lots of Greek words, there are parts of it that I just can’t quite wrap my mind around. I think this is ok. How marvelous to serve a God who is so much more magnificent than I can even comprehend! What I have noticed though is that through all of it, a few things remain constant regardless of tribulation and destruction.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">God is on the throne. All the angels and all elders and all the saints and all the believers are gathered at His feet. And they can’t stop worshiping Him. They <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">can’t stop worshiping Him. </i>Forever.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">And so this week life is hard and it is heavy. Because I love so many and I want them to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">know</i>Him and I want Him to heal them. I want the hurt to be over, but I know that one day, it will be. And in the mean time I just ask it, I beg it, that we would be people who cannot stop worshiping the Lamb who is worthy. That through the hard and the struggle and the moments that just seem so hopeless we would cling to the hope that He’s already won and our only response would be adoration and praise.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Eyes on Him. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Because when our love is not enough, His was. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">His is.<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xy4SqCsl9HI/UJ5zgq7IezI/AAAAAAAABKU/NKkWb-DElgs/s1600/IMG_2735.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xy4SqCsl9HI/UJ5zgq7IezI/AAAAAAAABKU/NKkWb-DElgs/s640/IMG_2735.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><!--EndFragment--> <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eIfLkXCThIo/UJ5zVAPcbsI/AAAAAAAABKM/F2olMWx0MJ8/s1600/IMG_2719.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eIfLkXCThIo/UJ5zVAPcbsI/AAAAAAAABKM/F2olMWx0MJ8/s640/IMG_2719.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hu5QgtE0vu8/UJ5zRwxLHZI/AAAAAAAABKE/IiFvSMnQ-2w/s1600/IMG_1840.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hu5QgtE0vu8/UJ5zRwxLHZI/AAAAAAAABKE/IiFvSMnQ-2w/s640/IMG_1840.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">After this I looked, and behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes with palm branches in their hands, and crying out with a loud voice, “Salvation belongs to our God, who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!” And the angels were standing around the throne and around the elders and the four living creatures, and they fell on their faces before the throne and worshiped God saying, “Amen! Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever! Amen.” –Revelation 5:9-12</div><br /><br />http://katiedavis.amazima.org/2012/11/i-watch-tears-roll-down-her-cheeks-and.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (katie)147tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2695840511970883220.post-3885174215468431918Mon, 05 Nov 2012 18:41:00 +00002012-11-05T10:41:59.048-08:00It is my privilege to be able to introduce to you some of our phenomenal staff. These people have taught me so much and I am continually blown away by their wisdom and their joy in serving. I am so excited for you to "meet" Siraji. This man's dedication to serving the people around him is something all of us could learn from. His smile shines with the joy of a person who truly knows God and I am humbled and honored to call him an employee and friend!<br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><i>I put on my first shoe when I was 14 years old.<span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>I grew up sleeping on banana leaves...</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><i><span>&nbsp;</span>I want to exhaust myself with helping others so that a life is improved.</i></span><br /><br /><a href="http://www.amazimaministries.blogspot.com/2012/11/compassion-interview-with-mentor-siraji.html">click here to finish reading this story...</a><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Rq8RArUigwk/UJgHMHgdblI/AAAAAAAABJw/_gIUP2Sf6Xw/s1600/IMG_7148.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Rq8RArUigwk/UJgHMHgdblI/AAAAAAAABJw/_gIUP2Sf6Xw/s640/IMG_7148.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>http://katiedavis.amazima.org/2012/11/it-is-my-privilege-to-be-able-to.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (katie)24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2695840511970883220.post-1100437813893071083Mon, 29 Oct 2012 20:01:00 +00002012-10-29T13:01:34.348-07:00<!--StartFragment--> <br /><div class="MsoNormal">My kitchen is painted yellow.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Because yellow is the color of sunshine and of joy and because yellow is my favorite.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s never quite as clean as I want it to be in here.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Tonight as I stand in the after-bed-time quiet my eyes follow a trail of red footprints across this floor that is supposed to be white and the tears well. So many memories held here.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">This kitchen, this is there I serve. Many days, this kitchen is where I live. These counters, nicked and crumb covered, the sink, one side piled high with drying dishes, they could tell some stories. They’ve seen my joy as I gaze out the window at my laughing brood and raise still-soapy hands high in praise. They’ve seen the tears fall in defeat over the just-peeled carrots and the open pages of Psalms. They’ve heard my tongue snap in exasperation as another child screams through the kitchen and my whispered repentance later as I beg Him to make more of me. These walls have held late night laughter with dear friends and early morning remorse over broken dreams. They’ve held confessions and achievements and words, oh so many sweet words.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">The memories flood too quickly to contain them all.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I see the night I came home and walked into this kitchen defeated and without a 4 year old and sweet friends gathered around to make super and their silence meant more than words.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I see our first Thanksgiving here, mom pulling the stuffing out of the oven, kids dancing happy and people – <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">oh so many people – </i>who I love and so much joy spilling out of such a small space.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I see myself standing here in the wee morning hours that shouldn’t even count as morning yet whisking high calorie milk for a child just barely clinging to life and I hear my loud cry for Jesus to save Him.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I hear the pitter-patter of little feet over the bubbling of the coffee pot and the excited voice of my littlest as she announces that the chicks have “popped” in the first light of the morning, and I feel the way His mercy has washed over me in this place.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I see hundreds of cooking lessons, little bodies crowded around a big pot, eager for their chance to measure, to pour, to stir. I see birthday cakes, so <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">so</i> many birthday cakes frosted and decorated with butterflies and flowers. I see whole wheat bread warm and rising in this oven, daily, and marvel at how He has been our daily bread.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I see the day when the full weight of her past threatened to knock the breath right out of me, how I pressed my palms hard into these counter tops and willed myself to keep breathing and questioned everything that I knew to be true.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I see the girls, gathered around the open computer screen and hear the voices of my mother and father and brother streaming across space and time zones and my heart aches with missing them but rejoices for love that bridges even oceans.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I see people. Homeless mothers who have found their way to better life here. Children who have healed and become whole here. Friends who have found rest, family who have so greatly blessed, people I have loved, who have loved me. People who have known the Lord in this place.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I have set foster babies on these counters next to casseroles for neighbors. And right here on these counters I have typed it all out, our lives, the beautiful and the ugly, between the stirring of the pots and the wiping of the noses, and the words turned to pages and the pages into a story.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s almost too much this passing of time, the dying of dreams and the budding of new ones, this growing of babies into children and children into women and hearts to maturity. And I cry because I want to hold it all forever, His goodness in this place. I run fingers over knife-worn counters and time runs too fast. And people are sent out from here. People heading home and people heading off to new futures and one day, these girls, too. I serve meals in this kitchen but I want to serve them what counts. <i>I want to offer them the living bread, the only food that truly fills.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I have laughed here, I have wept here, I have created here, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">oh, I have prayed here</i>. And here in this place, I have known Him more. I haven’t always done it right and some days I feel that I haven’t been enough, but I know that He has. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">He has</i>. Right above the oven are painted the words of Acts, “They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and generous hearts… and the Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved,” and I know it like I know my own breath and the warmth of the sun on my skin, time passes, and they will go, and only He will remain. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">My eyes find the trail of footprints leading to the door, and through bated breath I ask it, beg it, “Lord, if I could have just one thing, could I have served them <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You</i>?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><!--EndFragment--> http://katiedavis.amazima.org/2012/10/my-kitchen-is-painted-yellow.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (katie)109tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2695840511970883220.post-4901989599385638344Fri, 26 Oct 2012 05:06:00 +00002012-10-26T06:31:31.132-07:00<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Ever wonder what we are up to on a Saturday?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.amazimaministries.blogspot.com/">Come and see!</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ptJPmDg8qPg/UIoaQ1V_g0I/AAAAAAAABJY/VndoAJ3U56U/s1600/IMG_1734.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="410" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ptJPmDg8qPg/UIoaQ1V_g0I/AAAAAAAABJY/VndoAJ3U56U/s640/IMG_1734.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ML2SA5qmfkA/UIoZnQwqzqI/AAAAAAAABJQ/Ryxq4YQRqqw/s1600/AMI_12003-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ML2SA5qmfkA/UIoZnQwqzqI/AAAAAAAABJQ/Ryxq4YQRqqw/s640/AMI_12003-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>http://katiedavis.amazima.org/2012/10/blog-post.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (katie)24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2695840511970883220.post-5613242829428504091Sat, 20 Oct 2012 18:26:00 +00002012-10-26T06:31:53.540-07:00<!--StartFragment--> <br /><div class="MsoNormal">She clings tightly to the edge of the pool, knuckles while with fear of the unknown. My eyes grow hot but I fight it, surely you can’t cry on the side of the public baby pool in the middle of a perfect Sunday afternoon. I taught her how to swim. But it has been two years this month since she’s lived in my home and longer since she’s been in a pool. The swirl of the cold water and the way it will carry you if you simply relax but pulls you under when you stiffen in panic has become foreign to her.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">“Come on!” Patricia pulls at her and it strikes me that she’s just the same age now that Jane was on that day when I packed her backpack and sent her home with her mother and it seems too little. I let the tears fall and ask Him, “What do I do with grief like this on a beautiful, sunny Sunday while kids splash happy all around me?” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">“Give it to me,” He whispers.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">As the tears clear I see that Patricia has successfully pulled her reluctant friend into the center of the pool. The water reaches only to her chest, but still she is tentative; I know that look in her eyes even as her face tries to smile. Within minutes the reserve melts into relief. The pool! We <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">like</i> the pool! And there she is dancing and splashing and laughing with the rest of them.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">The big girls can’t resist all this giggling joy in little sisters and they pull all three over the dividing wall and into the big pool. Again her eyes dart. Is it safe here? She grabs for the edge. But the big girls pull her to the middle to laugh and splash and play and when they don’t let go, she regains her confidence. Soon she’s swimming and splashing and laughing with all her might, fully comfortable with the water all around her, and when it is time to go, she is the hardest to get out.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I wrap her in an enormous soft towel and repent as I pull her close. You would think that I would just be thankful that we still occasionally get these windows of time with her. Who has to give up a child and then still gets to see her sometimes? Not many. I think of all the women I know whose babies have just not woken up in the morning and I know I should be grateful for this gift.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">But I’m clinging to the side of the pool. I am clinging to the past and to my what-I-thought-should be instead of to His perfect what-will-be.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I know about the middle of the pool. I know how to swim! I’ve tasted and I have seen that the Lord is good; I have testified with my mouth and known deep in my heart that His will is better than all my plans. I have put together the right words and tied it up in a neat little bow and written it up for the world to see – See! His will is the best! We love it here.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">But today a big broken piece of my flesh is clinging to the side, longing for the past and the way I thought I wanted life to be. And the reality is, when I cling here, I don’t have to say a word. My white knuckles and my tense body and the posture of my heart say, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“but what if its not?</i> What if His will is just scary cold water and I’ll just stay here on the edge, thanks.” And right there on the side of the pool He uses this little one to bring me to my knees, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">again.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Who is God when we are clinging to the side? He is the one who comes to right where we are. He is the one who takes our hand and pulls us back to the middle and won’t let go. “Remember, love?” He whispers, “You can swim. I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">taught you how</i> to swim.” And He doesn’t let go, not ever. Stiffened in panic and doubt, I sink, but relax and lean into Him and the floating comes back easily. The side is not nearly as marvelous as it is out here.<br /><br />The hope and joy that is found in Jesus Christ, who is working all things for the good of those who love Him, is enough to carry me.<br /><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">We know this. But the truth is, we all forget. I forget. Life’s hard stings and I question and I wrestle and I believe with all my heart that He will make it all beautiful one day, but can I open my eyes to see that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">He is making it beautiful now?</i> Right this moment? Because as He pulls me closer to the center of His will, He is only pulling me closer to Him. As I choose to trust Him, again and again and again and again, He promises me that He is transforming me into His likeness. And closer to Him? That is the only place I really want to be. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Stop fighting. Stop holding on so tightly to what you thought you needed for security. Come on out here to the center. He won’t let go. And it’s marvelous here.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><!--EndFragment--> http://katiedavis.amazima.org/2012/10/she-clings-tightly-to-edge-of-pool.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (katie)137tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2695840511970883220.post-8344033523134298419Sat, 13 Oct 2012 14:52:00 +00002012-10-26T06:37:21.314-07:00Our van pulls into the bumpy dirt space next to her bumpy dirt house and there she stands, her smile like sunshine. It is hot and we are late but her joy reminds me of where I find my Joy. My two youngest see her and their grins match hers as they clap and chant, "Miss Angelina, Miss Angelina!"<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sAIXO286gQY/UHliOxQddOI/AAAAAAAABHo/D_7A1_3jEzQ/s1600/IMG_1660.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sAIXO286gQY/UHliOxQddOI/AAAAAAAABHo/D_7A1_3jEzQ/s640/IMG_1660.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Her hug is warm and encouraging like a mother's and I rest there a moment. "Good morning, sweet friend," I say and the word rolls off my tongue and fills up my heart as my children pull on her skirt and crawl up into her arms, because <i>she is.</i>&nbsp;She herds them into her house no bigger than my kitchen and has cups of tea and biscuits waiting for them and I cannot believe how blessed I am. I have to run down and start working, but the girls don't bat an eye. They know they are safe here. "They'll stay here with me," she chuckles, "enjoy your meeting."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I thank her and I whisper more thanks as I walk away and the full weight of it hits me. This woman, she is my friend.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OQB6fjVD52k/UHljaeI64VI/AAAAAAAABH0/yP81aWlreKo/s1600/IMG_1650.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OQB6fjVD52k/UHljaeI64VI/AAAAAAAABH0/yP81aWlreKo/s640/IMG_1650.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">* &nbsp; &nbsp; * &nbsp; &nbsp; *</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">She lets me put my hand on her shoulder and take her baby for her as she bends her head to weep. This baby was named after me shortly after she was born straight into my lap, the same lap that her father died in just minutes ago. I mop her house. What else do you do?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We stand in the rain and we cry. Neighbors come and I feel their reassuring hands on my shoulders and an on-looker might think that I should be afraid here, in the dark, in the rain but I feel only comfort. So many faces press in to the candle light and I marvel at the stark contrast of people who used to spit at me because of the color of my skin to people who now join hands with mine in the night. "Thank you for crying for our pain," she says and words fail me. I remember that Nouwen wrote "Compassion is not a bending toward the underprivileged from a privileged position; it is not reaching out from on high to those who are less fortunate below; it is not a gesture of sympathy or pity for those who fail to make it in the upward pull. On the contrary compassion means going directly to those people and places where suffering is most acute and <i>building a home there,"</i>&nbsp;and so we sit.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I walk back up the muddy hill and by the dim lantern light from a near-by chapati stand I embrace people that my heart so deeply loves and even on the hardest days I can't help but feel gratitude because I know: These people, they are my friends.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bZVNATY9LKU/UHl2FVLrcCI/AAAAAAAABIE/25xfANuKZmI/s1600/IMG_1830.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bZVNATY9LKU/UHl2FVLrcCI/AAAAAAAABIE/25xfANuKZmI/s640/IMG_1830.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">* &nbsp; &nbsp; * &nbsp; &nbsp; *</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We sit in a circle in my yard and I serve tea and paint their toenails and our laughter is real. We read the word and share prayer requests and praises and not all of them believe yet but they are starting to recognize His answers, to see that our prayers are real, too. We have laughed at our days and cried for our sorrows. We have shared wild stories and we have sat in the silence. And despite a million difference we are really all just the same, and we have forged relationships that will last.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Eg8RglX7SsI/UHl32T0FxtI/AAAAAAAABIY/sYuNzmm1-HI/s1600/IMG_1755.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Eg8RglX7SsI/UHl32T0FxtI/AAAAAAAABIY/sYuNzmm1-HI/s640/IMG_1755.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-36OgpoSbazw/UHl39eIq0VI/AAAAAAAABIg/NhJxyGLrlJE/s1600/IMG_1695.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-36OgpoSbazw/UHl39eIq0VI/AAAAAAAABIg/NhJxyGLrlJE/s640/IMG_1695.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">* &nbsp; &nbsp; * &nbsp; &nbsp; *</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><!--StartFragment--> </div><div class="MsoNormal">I speak English and Luganda. She speaks Nkarimojong and Swahili. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Her baby is sick, but I can’t figure out how in the world she is going to tell me what is wrong. I try all kids of crazy sign language and she stares at me. I’ve got it! I start making gagging noises as if I am going to vomit. She nods her head enthusiastically. “How many times?” I ask, and even try to sign. She doesn’t get it. I make the vomiting sound once; she shakes her head “no.” I make it twice. I make it three times. On the fourth, she nods her head earnestly again. We stare at each other. And then, we fall to the floor in stitches. We both realize how ridiculous this is.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I hand her some medicine. She smiles, but pulls me back onto the couch as I stand up. “Eklip,” she says, and I know that one. Pray. She wants me to pray for her baby. She doesn’t believe just yet, but still, she wants me to pray. I curl myself back up next to her on the couch and I thank Jesus for Namele and for her baby and for His love. She stays for dinner.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">And as she sits at my table and holds my hand as we bow out heads in prayer again, joy floods over me. This woman, she is my friend.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><!--StartFragment--> </div><div class="MsoNormal">Status, and culture, and language mean nothing in these moments. Race and age and life experiences fade away. Her hand is in mine and we bow to our Creator and we break bread and we laugh, oh we laugh. I hold her baby and she holds mine and we care about each other in a way that is real and deep. She sits on my couch or I sit on her dirt floor and we exchange a few words that we can both understand in broken verb tenses and we love, and it is enough.</div><!--EndFragment--> <br /><!--EndFragment--> <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I have long put aside my dream that I might change the community of Masese, but this place, these people, they change me. I share with them so little and they share with me wisdom and joy and laugher. They let me sit with them and know Him more.&nbsp;What is success when children still go to bed hungry and husbands still beat up their wives in a drunken stupor and lives are still cut short by terrible illness? Surely only these faces. Surely only love that transcends all cultural barriers, defies language and race and age, destroys stigma.&nbsp;Lord willing, in ten or twenty or thirty years, Masese will look different as the people here are empowered with a love and a hope that can only come from Jesus. Lord willing, in ten or twenty or thirty years, I will look different too, as He continues to shape my idea of ministry into His. &nbsp;And in the mean time, through the hard, we will hold our heads high and gaze in wonder at the Savior and say with full confidence, "Love has won."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GPOKC2ASj2k/UHl_HinM3LI/AAAAAAAABIw/M49Yl0ZgtC8/s1600/IMG_1791.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GPOKC2ASj2k/UHl_HinM3LI/AAAAAAAABIw/M49Yl0ZgtC8/s640/IMG_1791.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-69665P58AeM/UHl_gZ372NI/AAAAAAAABI4/2lWg4DTLqC8/s1600/IMG_1932.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-69665P58AeM/UHl_gZ372NI/AAAAAAAABI4/2lWg4DTLqC8/s640/IMG_1932.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Love has won. And against all the odds, these people, they are my friends.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Incredible photos by the wonderful Jackie Kramlich!</i></div>http://katiedavis.amazima.org/2012/10/our-van-pulls-into-bumpy-dirt-space.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (katie)98tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2695840511970883220.post-4594722926322590026Fri, 24 Aug 2012 18:11:00 +00002012-08-31T11:56:55.739-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><!--StartFragment--> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Nearly four years ago she bounced into my life in a dress with a bright red sash. She tentatively called me Mommy after having not known one for nearly her entire five years of life and all signs of trauma were quickly masked with little girls songs and dances and giggles as she adjusted to life in a family.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Years later I watched her feet run in bright red sneakers toward the towering swing set where she would pretend to fly. We had struggled for joy and were finding it; she had thrashed against love and by God’s grace I was learning to hold on tight.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">She kicked and screamed and did the unspeakable and when logic said that I should be angry or might love her less, I couldn’t and my desire for her was only stronger. And as I saw the extent of her brokenness and mine, I loved her even more.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Red beads clicked around her face as she skipped into the kitchen to find her head a resting place now nearly at my shoulder, and she whispered of the wounds once covered but never healed and an unfamiliar panic crawled up in the back of my throat and settled in as it hit me, the full weight of how much we had yet to overcome.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">I took her face in my hands and through blurred eyes assured her, assured myself, that Jesus thought of her and her red beads and her red sash as His red blood spilled out, and because I knew that, I knew this – He would not leave us here.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">He didn’t and I saw progress, but the fears stayed. Nights of standing by her bed, days of checking and double checking and checking again. Blame and accusations from the enemy that I could have done something differently, done something better. Anger and hatred toward the sin that could allow someone to do such horrible things to an innocent, helpless child. I knew Beauty. I fought to see Him here.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Months later on a Tuesday in the still-dark house, I drank too-strong coffee and I drank of His grace. I prayed over my daughter, a splash of red in the tapestry of our family – feisty, powerful and full of care and compassion. I wrestled with the questions of “what if” and “if only” and I told them of His sovereignty, again.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">And right there on the worn pages I read Zechariah call God’s people<i> prisoners of hope</i>.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">And I knew that I hadn’t been. Once more I had become more of a prisoner of overwhelming concern about the trauma of my children’s pasts and shifted my gaze away from what, Who I was really captive to.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“but in Him, it has always been ‘Yes!’ For no matter how many promises God has made, they are all ‘Yes’ in Christ.” (2 Corinthians 1: 19-20) </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">My flesh wants to shake the head no but I am a prisoner to God who says “Yes!” All of His promises – peace, joy, love, forgiveness, salvation! – they are Yes to me and Yes to her in Christ! Eternity is Yes in Christ.&nbsp;And because of His Yes I can say Yes to all that He gives. Even&nbsp;<i>a</i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ll that He allows.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Hope is my captor – Hope for her healing here which has already begun and hope for our life eternal with Him. Hope that He who began a good work in us is not finished yet and will carry it to completion until the day that He comes and hope that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">He is coming.<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">The sun peaks over the horizon and dances patterns across the couch. I see with new eyes, a captive of the hope set fully on the grace given me through Christ. I must live my days as this kind of prisoner, because true freedom is only found in being completely captivated by a coming King.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">She who is always the first one awake pulls a book off the shelf and snuggles up next to me in silence, her nine-year-old lankiness curling up like an infant inside waiting arms.&nbsp;I see hope in her – and I see myself. I kick and I scream and I thrash hard against the Father’s love. I shift my focus and become a prisoner to the panic instead of the promise, and still He says, “mine.” He looks at me, broken, and calls me daughter and ever so lovingly pulls me right back in.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">I study her face and can’t imagine that I know only a fraction of His love for her as I whisper the prayers of every morning over her heart, “Jesus you bind up the broken-hearted…set the captives free…comfort those who mourn…bestow beauty instead of ashes… They will be called oaks of righteousness, a display of the Lord’s splendor.” I trace the curve of her face with my fingers and praise Him for such resilience and transformation as I have seen in this child. I praise Him for her salvation and the way she is hungrily learning more about Him each day.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">And then I write it small, on her hand and mine, “prisoner of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hope.</i>”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">I want to live as a prisoner to the “Yes.” Remembering all we have seen, we set our hope fully on what we have not yet seen. We place all of our hope and all of our trust and all of our focus on the grace given us through Christ, and we beg to live captured by His promises.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LMHbfInejOw/UDfBZadx9-I/AAAAAAAABFs/aP59XhAHknU/s1600/new+936.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="154" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LMHbfInejOw/UDfBZadx9-I/AAAAAAAABFs/aP59XhAHknU/s320/new+936.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />http://katiedavis.amazima.org/2012/08/nearly-four-years-ago-she-bounced-into.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (katie)165tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2695840511970883220.post-1730075020168665678Fri, 15 Jun 2012 15:50:00 +00002012-06-15T12:50:26.983-07:00What we've been up to...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">It is a bit overwhelming to realize that you have bled your whole heart – the ugly sin, the raw emotion, the unbridled truth – out on paper for the whole world to read.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">It is a bit exhausting to hear over and over again how “awesome” you are when you, in fact, know very well that you are not.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">People expect romantic, and all I have is a wildly disorganized bookshelf and dirty children shrieking with too-loud laughter. People expect that the days all hold life-saving medicine given to children on the brink of death and profound revelation and while some do, most consist more of peeling potatoes and wiping spills and listening to recited memory verses and biting my tongue as spaghetti sauce splatters everywhere and I light the pot holder on fire, again.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">I believe the lie that I must meet expectation, and I try harder. I stay up later answering emails and I desperately try to finish a book that I said I would endorse and I organize the bookshelves and wipe down the counters <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">again</i>. I brush past the children who hold my heart in order to be a “good mother” who has homemade food on the dinner table on time. We finish lessons and recite Psalms and fold laundry and welcome visitors. Life gets too busy, it gets so fast and so full that at the end of the day it can feel just <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">empty.<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 48.0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p>&nbsp;&nbsp;</o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 48.0pt;"><div style="text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p>* * *&nbsp;</o:p></i></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 48.0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 48.0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">This was not the first time I had been here and I knew what to do. I pull back, I dig into the Word and I listen. The lesson whispered in the quiet is always the same. My friend <a href="http://everybitterthingissweet.com/">Sara</a> calls it Adoration. My friend <a href="http://www.aholyexperience.com/">Ann</a> counts it all up as Eucharisto. Paul says it’s the secret of contentment, hands full or hands empty. Whatever we name it, it is astounding Truth: Communion with the Savior is the only thing that makes anything matter.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">I choke because my every day life begins too feel small compared to the expectation. And He breathes truth that a life is not made by lives saved or bellies fed or words written. To adore the one who created the Heavens and the Earth, to give thanks for who He is and all He has given, to worship and commune with Holy God, whispering in the quiet, clinging in the noise, believing in all circumstances – this is what makes a life large.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">The miracle is joy in Him in a day that goes all wrong. The miracle is standing in awe of abundance as I chop carrots and bathe babies and fold laundry. The miracle is a Son sent to die for the very likes of me and His ever-pursuing love for me still. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Paul knows the secret, and even when I think I learned this lesson already Jesus teaches me again: we can live a full life wherever we are – even in the days that seem to small – when we live in communion with the Savior. We look up, praise on our lips, and as we worship Him for all He has done our hearts open wide to more. We wait, expectant, for all that He is doing and this is&nbsp;<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">it</i>, this is life to the fullest.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Foster babies go back to their families. How do you raise a child as your own and then say good-bye? I guess because you know that God ordained their family to be another one, but that doesn’t make it easy. My baby will start therapy before she starts kindergarten. I do not like the idea of a child having to endure trauma so that one day she may learn from it, or teach another about it. But I still believe He has purpose, even when I can’t see it. I look outside at the insanely noisy game of tag taking place in my yard: 4 Hindu neighbors that my children are praying desperately to reveal Christ to, 2 little girls off the street who lost their mother 2 weeks ago and passed by for a drink of water, 13 little girls that have walked through hell and made it out on the other side with a family. Is there anything my lips could say but <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">thank you?</i> I don’t know what to make of it all, but I can’t think of anything to do but praise the God who is always working and will not leave us here. Where I end, He is only just beginning.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Paul says he strains to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of him and isn’t this why He took hold of us -that as we open our lips to praise Him for who He is, He opens our hearts to be transformed in His likeness. He trades my dirty rags for the splendor of Him, breathes new life into dry, dead spaces.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">We know the secret:</i> Christ Jesus crucified and risen from the dead reaching out for relationship with you and with me. And a heart turned toward Him is the only way to live full of joy.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">On the days when children run around the yard happy and the bread rises warm in the oven and those we’ve been nursing return home with new life in their veins, and on the days when the reading doesn’t get done and I half carry a mother up the hill to the place they will lower her 3 year-old’s body into the ground because of a fever – a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">fever</i>! -&nbsp; and life seems too unjust and the head wants to shake “no”, my lips will say yes to all that is Christ and I will adore my Savior.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Communion with God is what we are standing up under here – on the days that go as planned and on the days that don’t. On the days with expectations left unmet and dinner running late because of an extra game of hide-and-seek, on the days that seem mundane and the days that seem magnificent, we are saying <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">yes</i>to all He gives and we are saying <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">thank you</i>.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Nv2Jm3PbMII/T9tK1sSL-BI/AAAAAAAABFI/argjUGIcTVo/s1600/IMG_1734.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="205" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Nv2Jm3PbMII/T9tK1sSL-BI/AAAAAAAABFI/argjUGIcTVo/s320/IMG_1734.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-h6kXmB2s-yU/T9tHJtXg7uI/AAAAAAAABDM/2yg2LkB67Ck/s1600/IMG_1463.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-h6kXmB2s-yU/T9tHJtXg7uI/AAAAAAAABDM/2yg2LkB67Ck/s320/IMG_1463.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cLhZQ_Jb0xY/T9tHXJr7CVI/AAAAAAAABDc/4Ib_hwWg8Cw/s1600/IMG_3433.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cLhZQ_Jb0xY/T9tHXJr7CVI/AAAAAAAABDc/4Ib_hwWg8Cw/s320/IMG_3433.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aIbQUfOdAo4/T9tHTtYzTEI/AAAAAAAABDU/_Qakc1uj9i8/s1600/IMG_0771.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aIbQUfOdAo4/T9tHTtYzTEI/AAAAAAAABDU/_Qakc1uj9i8/s320/IMG_0771.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iJEJz8NJtdI/T9tHkZfDtlI/AAAAAAAABDk/265odTQ_tqE/s1600/IMG_1453.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iJEJz8NJtdI/T9tHkZfDtlI/AAAAAAAABDk/265odTQ_tqE/s320/IMG_1453.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8a1Ob71ToFo/T9tKOfF6-cI/AAAAAAAABEw/lDTusV45xTY/s1600/IMG_3339.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8a1Ob71ToFo/T9tKOfF6-cI/AAAAAAAABEw/lDTusV45xTY/s320/IMG_3339.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qTfpvy_ENGI/T9tHyKlV9hI/AAAAAAAABDw/NxxEs_P9U-I/s1600/IMG_1762.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qTfpvy_ENGI/T9tHyKlV9hI/AAAAAAAABDw/NxxEs_P9U-I/s320/IMG_1762.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GqzIFsDCoM0/T9tIbUypcCI/AAAAAAAABD4/1yTsAPVQU8s/s1600/DSC00599.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GqzIFsDCoM0/T9tIbUypcCI/AAAAAAAABD4/1yTsAPVQU8s/s320/DSC00599.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HJtpf70yDyg/T9tIm_L2QdI/AAAAAAAABEE/K4n3MI2FExQ/s1600/IMG_2141.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="219" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HJtpf70yDyg/T9tIm_L2QdI/AAAAAAAABEE/K4n3MI2FExQ/s320/IMG_2141.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XxJkQ2Uz9Us/T9tKD1f5y2I/AAAAAAAABEk/-tZll0QTf8c/s1600/IMG_3310.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XxJkQ2Uz9Us/T9tKD1f5y2I/AAAAAAAABEk/-tZll0QTf8c/s320/IMG_3310.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mlr39u4XGZM/T9tIpsQttuI/AAAAAAAABEM/O8DQ3vwqK6w/s1600/ballet2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mlr39u4XGZM/T9tIpsQttuI/AAAAAAAABEM/O8DQ3vwqK6w/s320/ballet2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AgBTI7vQAjE/T9tI7YT08iI/AAAAAAAABEU/NW53mnoRRzY/s1600/IMG_1292.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AgBTI7vQAjE/T9tI7YT08iI/AAAAAAAABEU/NW53mnoRRzY/s320/IMG_1292.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Q-YV_zNIQhg/T9tKS7UtiPI/AAAAAAAABE0/Cx6vtm-Xxm4/s1600/IMG_3323.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Q-YV_zNIQhg/T9tKS7UtiPI/AAAAAAAABE0/Cx6vtm-Xxm4/s320/IMG_3323.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">O God, you are my God,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I earnestly seek you;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">my soul thirsts for you,&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">my body longs for you,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">in a dry and weary land</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">where there is not water.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I have seen you in the sanctuary</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">and beheld your power and your glory.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Because your love is better than life,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">my lips will glorify you.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I will praise you as long as I live,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">and in your name I will lift up my hands.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My soul will be satisfied as with the&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">richest of foods;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">with singing lips my mouth will praise you.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Psalm 63:1-5</div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Awesome photos by my awesome friends </i><a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Photosynthesis-Photography/128591540552167"><i>Jackie</i></a><i> and </i><a href="http://hisdaughterhislily.wordpress.com/"><i>Kate</i></a></div>http://katiedavis.amazima.org/2012/06/what-weve-been-up-to.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (katie)273